


Something Extraordinary

by JoAsakura



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:35:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2826905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoAsakura/pseuds/JoAsakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I saw the last Hobbit movie over the weekend, and this happened. I haven't written LOTR fic since i was a kid reading the books.</p><p>So, this is mostly to just get it out of my head. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Extraordinary

It was a little seaside town on the edge of winter. The sea and sky more grey than anything else as the rain fell cold on the cobbled streets and bare trees jutting from the brown earth.

It was dull and quiet and Bill rather liked it that way. Peaceful, he thought as he bustled through his little shop, turning on the old lamps that hung in the window. The stained glass shades threw greens and reds and yellows in bright shards across the muddled collection of old signs, holiday souvenirs and sundry trinkets from both near and far. There were countless stories and adventures hidden on those cluttered shelves and yellowed pages - and those were the kind of adventures he preferred. 

Well, at least preferred to the dreams he frequently had of giant spiders, dragons and something his subconscious unhelpfully labelled "the king under the mountain". It was all too dire for him. (One dream in particular - he was so cold. So very cold, except for the hot, sticky wet beneath his hands. He knew it was blood, even if he couldn't bring himself to look. A hand, broad and calloused and too cool, covering his as he tried to hold back the tide. An apology, whispered in his ear. Bill chalked that dream up to rich food before bedtime and tried not to think too much about it)

The door jingled, and he looked up, the first blush of hope dashed as he saw the gangly old man in his tattered grey poncho crack his elderly skull against a low-hanging candelabra. "Oh, hello." Bill said pleasantly as the fellow scrambled after his grubby hat. "What a lovely surprise! Welcome to Bag End Antiques!"

The old man had never deigned to give Bill his name, and as such, had been filed away in his brain as "the old wizard man" as much for his gnarled walking staff as his shabby, faintly pointy hat. He wasn't a wizard by any stretch, though. A bum wandering the streets with his rattling trolley full of bottles and garbage. And every tuesday for the past year, he "sold" Bill some find of his, and Bill paid him in a cheese sandwich with pickle (crusts cut off), a bottle of juice, and a banana.

But the Old Wizard enjoyed it so when Bill acted surprised to see him, and so, he did.

"I've got you something extra special today, Master Baggins." The old man harumphed, fishing around in the layers of his clothing. They might have all been different colours at one point, but had mellowed all into the same indiscriminately depressing shade of grey. "Yes, yes, here it is. A dragon!"

He produced his find with a flourish, and Bill rubbed his nose, straightened his shoulders and pushed his reading glasses up with a serious nod. It was, in fact, a badly taxidermied gecko that some enterprising soul had bedazzled with gold spray paint and glitter. It was awkwardly perched on a plastic base and had the exact expression of someone stuck visiting relatives they disliked intensely. "Well. That is something." Bill said, taking it from the old man. "I reckon that is indeed... something. Your usual fee, then?"

"Oh, yes. Yes." The old man laughed as Bill handed him the paper sack. 

Bill glanced out at the chill, grey day and looked up at his lanky guest. "Forgive me for asking, but winter is definitely starting to set in. Do.. do you have a warm place to go?"

"Master Baggins." The Old Wizard shuffled the sack into the layers of his garments, then leaned on his walking stick. "It is kind of you to ask. I have a friend in the country with whom I shall winter." He laughed again. "You are a good soul." 

He then proceeded to whack Bill on the top of the head with his stick. "Something will happen today, Mister Baggins!" He said, straightening his back. "Something extraordinary!"

Bill rubbed his head with a glare as the Old Wizard turned on his heel with a gamey-smelling flourish. "Right, something." He muttered. "Fantastic.

~~

By three PM the Old Wizard's prediction had come true by about roughly 50%. Things indeed happened.

A sad old man had come in to sell a distressingly humanoid ceramic frog figurine. Bill promptly put it in a shoebox after acquiring it. It carried with it a faintly wet echo of footsteps, and he found that quite distressing.

His cousin, Lobelia came in some time after noon to make a rather large purchase and swan about the place. He didn't mind the sale, but knew perfectly well she'd be selling them off to her fancy customers in her fancy gallery of "ironic" finds, down south. She stayed for a cup of tea, and then was off. 

(It hadn't been all bad, however. She took the ceramic frog even if she had politely declined the gekco)

At 2:30, Bill's phone dinged with an email from his nephew. The lad and his group of friends were on some walking holiday in Spain. This in spite of the fact that none of them spoke a lick of Spanish, and foreign foods upset Fred's constitution fiercely. He scowled a bit, looking at the pictures. He strongly suspected some of the fellows he was travelling with were unsavoury types.

(You didn't meet these fellows at that Rivendell hostel you went to last year, did you?) Bill typed back slowly. (They look unhygenic, for the most part.) He hit send with a sigh, wondering about the state of Young People These Days. (You are only 45, Bill Baggins) he reminded himself as he pocketed his phone. (That is hardly elderly.)

~~

As it grew closer to 4, Bill thought, watching the sky grow darker, that he might close early for the day. It was unlikely he'd get another customer, and a pot of tea would be lovely against the cold that seeped through the shop's window.

He was about to close up, when the door jingled again. At first, he thought it was the old man, back with another piece of garbage, but it was most certainly not.

The man in the doorway had the kind of profile you saw more often on marble statues than on actual living people. Neat, dark beard and grey-streaked black hair, too long for fashion, but perfect for his face. He shook the rain a bit from his dark coat, and caught Bill's gaze with his own, bright, piercing blue. "Are you... Mister Baggins, I presume?"

Bill stared at him for a moment, then fidgeted with his worn, tweedy waistcoat. "I am. Can. Can I... help you?" He rocked on his feet, unsure of what to say to this man in his doorway. That voice, deep and rough and soft and so familiar, like a half-forgotten apology whispered into a cold wind.

"I'm sorry if I've come at a bad time. I came into a map... an old one, and I was told that you were the local expert on... " He paused, looking around the shop. "Antiquities." He added with wry humour.

"Well.. that might be overstating the case but.." Bill took a step forward. "I'm terribly sorry, your voice is so familiar. Have you been on the radio? Or maybe a presenter on television?"

The man laughed and Bill felt the warmth roll up from his feet all the way to settle in his chest. "I'm afraid not." He offered a hand, broad and calloused and very warm. "Thorin. I'm pleased to meet you."


End file.
